


Sort of an Eight Sense

by TalesInInkAndStars



Series: Sensations [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 22:40:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14680944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalesInInkAndStars/pseuds/TalesInInkAndStars
Summary: Eight people born all around the world at exactly the same time and all of them with greatness in their veins. It's sort of an eight sense you could say...





	Sort of an Eight Sense

**Author's Note:**

> So...uh.. I'm not dead
> 
> I never wanted to leave this concept so here I am attempting to ressurect a really fun idea I had two years ago of a Les mis and Sense8 crossover. Enjoy!

0 years old - 1995 - Chania Greece - Chania General Hospital 9:50pm

'Ok, Talisha we need you to push now okay? You need to push really really hard for me.' Why don't you bloody push! Talisha thought desperately. She almost vocalised the thought but a sharp pain in her stomach cut off the remark before she could get out more than a groan.

  
'Grantaire Papandreas I swear to God you’d better get out of me right this second or I will- ah!' Oh god where the hell was he? He promised he would be there.

'Where is my husband?' She asked, grasping the poor midwife by the sleeve of her gown in an iron grip. The doctor, who was wrist deep inside her and covered in blood looked up.

  
'Your husband isn’t here yet ma’am but we’re ready to deliver. I’m sorry we can’t wait any longer.' The pain got worse with every contraction like she was pushing a watermelon out of her. Talisha gritted her teeth and pushed, her muscles clenching. Everything else in the room seemed to fade away leaving just the burning pain as she pushed again and again. There was no sound apart from Talisha’s own panting breaths and guttural moans of pain and then, the sound of a baby crying. Her baby. That was her baby, screaming his lungs out like he was in greater pain than she was. The midwife was cradling her child but Talisha lacked the strength to sit up for a better look. She held out her arms weakly, trying to fight the rising anxiety she felt from not holding her son. The midwife gently lowered the baby into her arms. A barrage of emotions crashed down on top of her with such a suddenness that it was all she could do to hold her son close and burst into tears. After nine gruelling months of nothing but morning sickness and bickering with a less than thrilled father, finally. It felt like she was finally crossing a finish line, like all that pain was worth it for the tiny perfect human she now held in her hands. His tiny fingers wrapped themselves around her pinky finger, his legs swinging wildly in frantic and jerky motions. Talisha laughed softly and rocked her son from side to side.

  
'Oh, Grantaire you are going to be tough old thing, aren’t you? Just like your ma.'

************

0 years old - 1995 Barcelona - Spain - Nens Hospital Barcelona 9:58pm

'Mama? Why is he crying so much?' Carletta looked up from the baby cradled in her arms at the seven-year-old standing at the edge of the bed. She felt exhausted but peaceful and the tiny baby in her arms was crying quietly. Carletta started rocking her arms to soothe him.

  
'Well how would you feel if you were trapped in the dark for nine months?' Esme giggled, making the plaits her father must have put in place swing around her shoulders. 'He’s just stretching getting used to the open air. He’ll calm right down soon.' Esmeralda looked back at her little brother with such a sense of awe in her bright blue eyes that Carletta almost started crying again.

  
'Eight minutes old and screaming the place down? He’s one of us alright - a notorious loudmouths.' Carletta looked up at the sound of her husband's voice. Courfeyrac us was leaning in the doorway with a soft loving smile on his face. Three of their daughters rushed passed him to get a look at their new brother. They'd all done this many times before but Carletta never got used to the excitement in the air whenever they all gathered round her hospital bed. Carletta hadn’t seen her daughters for almost twenty-four hours and she had the overwhelming urge to hold them all as close to her as she could in one huge embrace. Courfeyrac leaned in to kiss her and gazed down at Julian who had finally started to calm down. Maria gazed down at her brother in wonder and Carletta smiled at her.

  
'Would you like to hold him, darling?' Maria’s eyes went wide.

  
'Will I be alright? I mean he’s so tiny what if I drop him!' Courfeyrac laughed and slung an arm around Carletta’s shoulders. She leant gratefully on his shoulder and carefully handed the baby to their eldest daughter who took him with the greatest of care and sat herself stiffly into the plastic chair beside the bed, Esme and Isabella crowding around her the moment she was settled. Carletta listened to the cooing and the giggles with a smile on her face.

  
'You did so well, Letta.' Courfeyrac pressed a kiss to her forehead. 'I'm so proud of you.' She threw a hand to her forehead dramatically.

  
'I'm exhausted! Let’s draw the line at five hmm? My figure can’t handle much more.' She joked.

  
'You’re still gorgeous to me darling.' He rubbed her arm with a grin. 'Things are looking up,' he whispered, 'Adella is looking well enough to come home in the next couple of days.' Carletta sighed in relief, relaxing further into her husband’s arms. Things were going to be okay. She could feel it. She and Courfeyrac had four amazing daughters and now there was a little boy to add to their lives even more. The girls were still gushing over him and Carletta let herself smile as she drifted off to sleep, the hours of restlessness finally catching up to her.

  
'Courfeyrac. You’ve got your work cut out for you!'

********

0 years old - 1995 Marrakech - Morocco - A car outside the Atfalouna Orphanage - 9:50pm

The pain was unbearable, Kadeen had a tight hold of her arm, eyes wide in horror. Fair enough - the doctor had said she wasn't due for another week, the expression was probably mirrored on her own face even through the pain. She was sprawled out on the back seat, her skirts hiked up around her waist and her legs spread. Anaan craned her head to look out of the window.

  
The night sky was dotted with hundreds of tiny stars visible even through the rain. The water trickled down the windows, making everything smudged and hazy.

Anaan thought that they looked a lot like the stars in that famous painting; Starry Night. She tried counting them, but the pain was too great to keep count.

  
'You need to push Anaan. You’ll be fine, just push and keep breathing ok?' Push and keep breathing. Oh god it hurt. It felt like her insides were on fire. She couldn’t think let alone control her body movements.

  
'I’m trying Kadeen, I- I can’t it hurts!' Tears burned their way down her cheeks. Why on Earth had she agreed to go through this? Barely eighteen and here she was giving birth to her first child in the back of her boyfriend’s shitty Volkswagen. Stupid stupid girl. Kadeen peppered her face with kisses and Anaan tried her best to steady her breathing and get her jumbled thoughts in order. Just push. Push and it will all be over.

  
'Oh god… urgh- ah!' A few agonising moments passed and then, ringing out into the night sky, came a child’s cry. Anaan looked down at the little boy screeching on the seat beside her and gave a shaky sigh of relief before falling backwards, her head landing awkwardly on the door handle. She felt Kadeen reach around her exhausted body to hoist the child into his arms and heard him muttering an old French lullaby softly as their son continued to scream into the night. Anaan smiled and drifted off to sleep.

********

When she awoke the car was moving and the rain was hammering against the roof of the car, ricocheting off it like bullets leaving a gun. With a bit of a struggle Anaan pulled herself into a sitting position. The car was quiet. No baby wailed.

  
'Where is he?' Anaan asked quietly. Kadeen startled and looked at her in the back mirror.

  
'You’re up. Good, how are you feeling ma cherie?'

  
'Like I just got stabbed a million times in the stomach and then slipped into a coma… he’s gone, isn’t he?' Kadeen nodded his head. Anaan leant back against her seat and stared at the car roof for a moment in silence.

  
'We were right outside Atfalouna when we stopped. You passed out as soon as he slipped out, so I wrapped him up and put him on the doorstep.' Anaan nodded, a small smile gracing her lips. The best thing for everyone involved was for the child to be left at Atfalouna. Anaan was not for the mothering life, there was so much of the world to explore and so much life to lead. No this was the best thing for all of them. She placed a kiss on Kadeen’s stubbled cheek and reached forward to switch on the radio. She looked out of the back window, trying to see past the streaks of water and the many miles they must have travelled at the orphanage and the baby she’d left there.

  
'Live well and do amazing things. Do us Pouvaires proud my darling boy.'

*******

7 years old - 2003 - Averett Court - South of Boston - 9:50pm

'Bossuet?' Melissa looked around from where she sat on the porch. Her son had been playing just in front of her a moment ago. A slight lurch of panic rose in her chest. Bossuet ’s kindness and curiosity about everything and everyone around him was something Melissa utterly adored about her only son, but his disposition also meant he was very likely to fall into a pond or get chased by a wild animal. Both of which had already occurred in his eight years of life. Melissa loved her son to death, but he took his toll. She left her cheesy holiday romance novel forgotten on the swing chair and started searching the garden which only made her panic more when she saw no eight-year-old in sight.

  
'Bossuet Rhodes, I told you not to leave the garden!' Melissa bit her lip, it wasn't that she didn't trust her son, it was just that he was extremely easily influenced and too trusting of everyone he met. The garden was empty of eight-year-old boys and Melissa was about to start panic dialling her husband when she heard a giggle from the street in front of the house. Heart racing, she quickly walked past the white fence and scooped her son up from where he was sitting in the dust petting a dog.

  
'Bossuet! What did I say about running off? You terrified me!' The little boy startled for a moment and flung his arms around her neck.

  
'Sorry mom. I heard the dog!' The dog in question looked like it hadn't eaten in a good few days and its fur was so covered in dust it was impossible to tell what colour it was. Its tail wagged from side to side and Melissa couldn't help but grin at it and reached out to scratch behind its ears. 'And look mom, I found more flowers!' He pointed to a small pile of dandelions and daisies heaped up before the gate and then at the surrounding patches of earth where her son had obviously pulled them lose. She laughed.

  
'Okay dear, time to head inside, your dad should be home soon and then we go go out for dinner somewhere in town.' She put him down and he started for the house before he seemed to remember something and turned back to look at her over his shoulder.

  
'What about him?' He asked in a small voice, pointing at the dog. Melissa considered the puppy dog eyes Bossuet threw his way and sighed with a smile.

  
'I think I've got a can of food somewhere in the back of the cupboard.' Bossuet gave a yell and raced up the garden path, the dog bounding at his heels. Melissa laughed and followed them shaking her head. Her son had her wrapped around his little finger and he knew it. Bossuet Rhodes was a charmer.

7 years old - 2003 - Santo Domingo - Dominican Republic - 9:50pm

The sun was slowly sinking in the sky, dipping below the horizon and playing shadows off of the buildings. Bahorel watched as it sank from his place on the street corner with slumped shoulders. It was nearly time to go home. His stomach plummeted as he thought about it.

  
Another night of the house smelling like a bar. His father screaming and hurling bottles at the walls, chasing him up to his room and catching him with a left hook when he didn’t move fast enough. His cheek still hurt from the day before, his muscles sore and heavy.

  
A bright light moved slowly past him and the sound of a car door opening and closing echoed across the street. Footsteps drew near and Bahorel buried his head in his hands, trying to make himself as small as possible.

  
‘Why aren’t you at home, kid?’ A police officer stood over him, his blue coat wrapped loosely around his shoulders. Bahorel raised his head slowly.

  
‘Don't much fancy going home Sir.’ He replied quietly. The policeman cocked his head and sighed deeply before offering a hand.

  
‘Come on son, it’s getting late. You know what happens on the streets after dark.’ Bahorel nodded although he reckoned he’d stand more of a chance on the streets with gangs than with his father in his own house. But he knew arguing with adults would get him nowhere. He’d either be ignored and he’d be punished for saying anything or he’d be taken away from one asshole and placed with another.

  
The streets twisted and turned and Bahorel stared out of the back window without saying one word to the policeman. As the roads got thinner and the turns more numerous the sun settled below the horizon, sending an orange haze dancing over the trees. By the time the cruiser parked up in Bahorel’s driveway it was dark. The officer looked over at him for the longest time and Bahorel tried to sit still under his gaze. Eventually the man leant over and clamped him on the back in what Bahorel thought was supposed to be a comforting gesture. It made his shoulder throb.

  
‘Whatever’s going on son, it’ll be okay.’ Bahorel said nothing and climbed out of the car.

  
As the door opened and the smell of alcohol hit him he heard his father pulling himself up off the couch.

  
‘Bahorel Perez where the fuck has you been!” Bahorel ran for the staircase, not stopping until his bedroom door locked behind shortly before his father started hammering on it from the other side.

 

17 years old - 2013 - Warsaw Poland

He doesn't even have time to run before the officer takes a hold of his arm. Feuilly scowled over his shoulder at him and then at the man who he'd been fighting. He’d finally managed to wrestle the woman's bag away from the thief, it was clutched under his arm, all but ruined from his strain to get a hold of it. Feuilly saw the trickle of blood trailing from the man’s nose and smiled despite himself. He noticed the other officer didn't have a grip on the mugger's arm and was instead offering him an apology.

  
‘Are you alright there sir? Feuilly fought the urge to growl at the officers. The man gave a dirty sneer and made a show of dusting off his jacket.

  
‘Quite alright officer, this fucker was trying to mug this a poor girl. I was doing my duty getting it back for her.’

  
‘That’s bullshit and you know it!’ Feuilly ground out. ‘You mugged that woman and I had to chase you for three streets before I caught you!’ The man huffed indignantly and turned back to the officer.

  
‘The cheek of a criminal.’ He said sadly and Feuilly dove at him again.

  
The holding cell was dark, cramped and smelled faintly of piss. Feuilly couldn't bring himself to care. It was exactly what he'd expected to happen, especially after the black eye he'd given the man that second time. Hugo wouldn’t be home from work for a few hours and even then, they didn’t have enough money for bail between them. At best he'd be in this cell for the usual forty-eight hours and let go. At the worst… Feuilly buried his head in his hands and sighed raggedly. These things always went the same way. He or his brother would wind up in trouble, bailing the other out of a fight or being accused of stealing from work and either one or both of them would spent the night in a jail cell.

  
Three hours in and a loud thud followed by raised voices had Feuilly craning his head through the bars. All he could see was a shadow through the frosted glass of the door blocking the cell from the front desk of the building, but he's could hear voices, one the police officer that had arrested him and another female voice he's didn’t recognise.

  
‘This is ridiculous! I told you what happened so why is he's locked up?’

  
‘The young man did not make bail Miss and what with the testimony of the victim-’

  
‘I was the victim for fucksake he's was trying to mug me! The man you have locked up in there was trying to get my bag back and you locked him up!’ The officer remained silent and Feuilly’s eyes widened as the woman continued speaking.

  
‘Now I’ve bought you bail so let him out already!’ Feuilly stumbled back from the bars as the door swung open and the officer came into the room followed by the girl Feuilly had saved that afternoon, blonde hair cascading over one shoulder and blue eyes fuming at the officer.

  
‘You’ve made bail Mr Grala.’ The sentence was almost spat at him with disdain, but the officer opened the door and stood aside to let him leave. Feuilly was still staring at the girl but moved hurriedly out of the cell before he's changed his mind.

  
Once they were out on the street Feuilly rounded on the girl.

  
‘What do you want? I haven’t got any money to pay you back.’ He's warned. The girl looked at him for a moment and Feuilly drew himself up to his full height, staring her down. She shrugged and smiled at him.

  
‘My name’s Cosette. I wanted to say thank you for getting my bag back, but I heard you’d gotten arrested which is ridiculous, so I came to get you out.’ Feuilly stared at her, confusion evident on his face from the way Cosette gave a short laugh and threaded their arms together. ‘What, you never heard of helping someone out before?’ Helping others, sure, Feuilly thought. No one really stops to help me out in return.

  
‘Thank you.’ He said slowly, wincing at how insincere it sounded. Cosette gave his arm a squeeze and gently lead him down the road and away from the police station. ‘Don’t mention it. Can I get you some breakfast…?’ Feuilly still felt dazed but allowed himself to be pulled along. His stomach grumbled, and he nodded hesitantly.

  
‘Feuilly,’ he's said quickly, ‘and yes thank you.’

17 years old - 2003 - Marseille

‘Clarisse calm down, you’re being unreasonable!’ Enjolras wanted to laugh. He's could feel his mother’s anger from the other side of his bedroom door and scoffed.

  
‘Unreasonable? Refusing to call me by my name is unreasonable mum.’ He was tired but determined and his mother gave an angry sigh through the door.

  
‘Clarisse is your name. It is the name I gave you and it is the name I will call you!’ Enjolras hit the door once hard and his mother’s voice rose.

  
‘That is not very ladylike behaviour!’

  
‘Good!’ Enjolras snarled, hitting the door again before slumping against it and sinking down to the floor. His anger drained away and he's buried his head in his hands. ‘I don't want to be a lady.’ He whispered. His mother didn’t respond but after a moment Enjolras heard her footsteps as she retreated down the stairs and began yelling at Enjolras’ father. It would only be a matter of time until his father would storm upstairs and dress Enjolras himself, kicking and screaming as his dress was zipped up. Enjolras couldn’t handle that. He's reached for his phone and scrolled through his contacts, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he's did so.  
The phone rang three times before he's heard a voice on the other end.

  
‘Hello?’

  
‘Ferre?’ He's could hear his voice quavering and clutched at a handful of carpet beside him. ‘Can I- can I sleep at your house tonight?’ He's waited with bated breath and almost jumped when Courfeyrac replied a moment later.

  
‘Enjolras of course you can… what happened?’ Enjolras swallowed.

  
‘I’ll tell you when I get there I need to pack I can’t stay here…’


End file.
